The Coming of Age

The bricks have oxidised from red to brown

like Corporation avenues of childhood

Streets no longer uniform;

skyline knobbed with promontories jutting

The walls, close up, are flaking; mortar gone,

stepped cracks where footings proved unsound

Gardens, previously open, interwoven, stitched by play

are prisons; paved, fenced, gazeboed

The ridges have endured, but give to stained, mossy tiles

UHF antennae, dated; rusting perches for a glut of bloated pigeons

Time has visited these streets and wearied them;

light of day exposed the truth

What was heresy becomes the catechism of new faith